Page 125 of Cruel Demands

“What?”

“Use your nails. Bite me. Curse me in English if it helps.”

“I curse you in English all the time.”

“Yes. It is one of your charms.”

I laugh weakly, and the movement makes him slip deeper. I feel his hips settle flush against mine, and I gasp.

He freezes. For several seconds, neither of us moves. Then the pressure changes. The pain is still there, but underneath it is something fuller. Stranger. A heat that spreads outward through my hips. “Mikhail.”

“I know.” He lowers his forehead to mine. I sigh in relief and moan as I take in the feeling of the still fullness. “Tell me when.”

I move experimentally beneath him. His breath leaves him in a harsh sound. Power rushes through me. This man terrifies entire rooms. People rearrange their lives around his moods. He has money, guards, secrets, and power, so much power. And I move my hips once, and he looks like he is suffering. I do it again.

His hand closes around my thigh. “Careful.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

I smile. For once, I am not the only one exposed. “Move,” I whisper.

His eyes close briefly. Then he does. Slowly at first. Each stroke goes deeper, stretching me until the discomfort blurs with pleasure. He watches my face the entire time, adjusting whenever I tense, giving me more when I pull him closer.

The rhythm builds between us. I stop thinking about how this should feel. I stop thinking about the fact that there will be a before and after this moment for the rest of my life.

There is only his weight over me, his hand beneath my neck, his mouth stealing every sound I make. He says my name like it belongs to him. Maybe it does.

Pleasure gathers again, slower and deeper than before. I cling to him as it rises, frightened by the intensity of it. “Mikhail.”

“I have you.”

The words push me over.

My body tightens around him, and he makes a broken sound watching me unravel, feeling me throb wildly. I cover my mouth as I start to gasp uncontrollably, and he grabs my hand and pulls it away. He frames my face with his hands and props up onto his elbows. He moves inside me slowly, and my orgasm crashes into a few more as I feel his fingertips dig deeper into my skin.

He peppers my face with kisses and breathes my name against my neck. He thrusts deeper once, twice, and I feel a brand new sensation through the condom, his shaft warming, the veins raising and his cock pulsing inside me. He holds me tightly, and I know that the feeling is him coming after me.

For a little while, neither of us moves. Mikhail stays over me, but he shifts enough of his weight onto one arm that I can breathe easily. His other hand moves through my hair, smoothing it away from my face while he studies me again with that relentless attention.

“You are all right?” he asks.

I nod. His eyebrow lifts.

“Yes,” I whisper. “I’m okay.”

Only then does something in his shoulders loosen.

It feels like a miracle somehow, what I’ve done. I lie underneath him and consider it, where I am, who he is, that I’m not a virgin anymore, that Mikhail Korolev took my virginity, that he is heavy and warm above me now, his breathing slowing while he twirls my hair.

I have you, he said.

The words are awfully close to you are mine.

And yet different in every way that matters.

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